


Taming The White Wolf

by BlueEyedArcher



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Blow Jobs, But He Can Try!, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Geralt Cant Fight His Feelings Anymore, Hand Jobs, Intimacy, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mutual Pining, Self-Discovery, Smut, Soft Dom Jaskier, Trust, Trust Issues, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:53:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22139632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueEyedArcher/pseuds/BlueEyedArcher
Summary: Jaskier is asking Geralt to trust him. An easy enough request to make but it will be the hardest thing Geralt's ever had to do in his life.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 46
Kudos: 938





	Taming The White Wolf

"All that growling you do, it's a wonder no one has mistaken you for a werewolf!" Jaskier's voice rose in teasing tendrils over the partition wall that shielded the bath from the rest of the room, mainly being the door. The bard was hard at work grinding at Geralt's nerves yet again with his incessant chattering.

They were once again at yet another inn in the backwater hamlet of absolutely nowhere and Geralt had been the victim of a malicious painting in ghoul intestines. The foul stench of rotting corpses and the putrid reek of decay and necrophage flesh had soured his good mood with the horrendous assault on his senses. He hadn't anticipated working these last few days so the spur of the moment ghoul nest had been a surprise that the villagers hadn't mentioned in their passing or tacked onto the notice boards.

It was only by luck that Geralt had spotted the signs before Jaskier had wandered off into the woodlands for firewood and inspiration, otherwise he'd be harvesting the pieces of his dead bard instead of wallowing in the disgusting pool of ichor and rot. He grimaced as the bard tossed several different kinds of salts and oils into the water and lathered up his hands with a flowery soap to work the bits of gore staining his white hair out of the long tangled locks and matted ends.

It wasn't that Geralt was angry at the bard so to speak. He couldn't blame Jaskier for something beyond his control, that was obvious. He was simply frustrated at himself and everything else as of late. He was riled up and snarly over the simplistic problems and found his late nights spent monster hunting and his days spent traveling with very little time in between for proper rest. Be it woods or inns, he couldn't find a sliver of peace to settle his aching tired bones and give in to true restful sleep. He was wired and prickly, concerned that if his eyes shut even for a moment, that Jaskier would fall into danger and he'd be the one to blame for the blood shed due to his negligence and laziness.

Maybe it was from traveling together for so long, or maybe it was the crippling loneliness that the thought of parting brought him late at night when the bard was too far into his cups to make sense of the world and Geralt was left to the withering devices of a wounded mind. It had been so long since he last traveled with anyone, be them man or Witcher. Even longer since he had found companionship that wasn't a fleeting evening of rolling in the bedsheets with the first willing warm body ready to accept him, scars and all into their fold. To embrace him, if he paid enough coin, and not ask the hard questions or be left with the troubling expectations come morning that accompanied his need to roam. He couldn't tie himself down to relationships. That was not the Witcher life, that was not the _Path._

But Jaskier had his own path he walked, and his chosen roads paralleled with Geralt's for the brief time that his mortality would allow it. He was accustomed to the nomadic needs to chase leads and coin across the map, visiting every corner of the country to rake in a living, no matter how unpleasant that may be at times. Entertaining scum and being the center of unwanted brutish attention.

Geralt's shoulders rose slowly in a deep measured breath. His head tilted forward, nearly hung over the cooling water of the bath as the bard rinsed the soap out of his hair and prepared a fresh clean towel for him to wrap up in. The silence had settled like a heavy fog in the room, causing a prickle of unease to slither down his spine unnecessarily. Guilt clenched tightly in his stomach as he avoided meeting the bard's gaze. It was a peculiar thing, since he couldn't quite place why exactly he felt so conflicted all of a sudden.

"You work too hard Geralt." The words came softly, without the biting sting of mockery. They didn't bait him with cleverly laid traps to lure him out into a battle of closely guarded wits and barbed words. A shadow play of verbal parries back and forth. They were honest, as Jaskier combed his fingers through Geralt's hair in small massaging motions. "Maybe a break is in order."

Geralt opened his mouth to speak, to form a protest that would squash these foolish thoughts but Jaskier was faster. He always was when it came to words, he maneuvered them like well crafted swords against the necks of the unsuspecting. "Even a mastercraftsman must set aside his tools and replenish his mind or else his craft dulls and the quality of his work becomes tarnished by exhaustion. A fresh mind is a sharp weapon that can conquer any task. You just need to give it a chance to recover."

"Hm." He grunted flatly, letting his brows knit together in a well worn scowl directed at the water. His amber eyes stole a peek at Jaskier's reflection as the bard coaxed his fingers triumphantly through his hair as he proceeded to snag the wayward white strands and wrangle them into some semblance of order. Jaskier finagled them carefully into a braid that captured the sides and pulled the loose strands around to the back. There they came together in a neat ponytail that rested against the dip of his skull. Jaskier combed his fingers through the loose lengths at the back, feeling the dampness fade to something softer as it dried. Geralt ignored how the idle petting motions made him melt back against the tub, despite the creeping chill that snuck through the water.

He withdrew after a moment, moving to rise from the tub so he could rinse before the water got too cold to the touch and settled shivers through his body. The room was warm with the aid of the fire, a bristle of heat that curled at his bare exposed body. Jaskier’s gaze was appraising as he drank in the series of scars, both white streaks aged by time and the bright flush of newer pink healing after recent run ins with foul creatures. He didn’t stare like many others had, settling on the grisly display of how much of a monster he really was. No better than the beasts he dispelled at the end of his silver sword.

Instead Jaskier looked at Geralt in a way that made him feel real and human. Like he existed as more than just a tool to be used against beasts, and he was more than the heroic figure that the bard’s tales painted him to be. But not in a way that was chivalrous or valiant. No, Jaskier looked at him and saw Geralt for the human beneath the armor. The man behind the mutations. The potential for what he could have been had he not been cast to this solitary life. 

Jaskier closed in on the witcher, lifting the towel to embrace him in the soft fabric, hiding his implements from the cooler air. The bard smiled warmly, gesturing for Geralt to rest back on the bed while he gathered some oils to rub into the witcher's sore muscles and old wounds. It was a routine that was familiar to Geralt, that he had grown so used to now that they’d been companions for so long that he found himself craving these moments when on the road or in the brief stints of time when they were parted.

Geralt melted into the tender skilled hands of the bard, fingers nimble and strong from years of working his lute in delicate melodies. A skill that Geralt hadn’t imagined useful for such a simple life but found it was proving valuable in times like these. His body relaxed as Jaskier found a particularly rough spot where Geralt had been knotted up by a stubborn muscle. 

The bard had noticed it recently in how he moved, as subtle and easily missed as the tiny quirks of his normally stoic features. How one man could express so much with so little outward change was beyond him. Jaskier was determined in his ministrations as he worked the fickle knot free until Geralt was groaning in relief. A small growl reverberating in his throat like some wildly beast. The sound sent shivers racing down his spine. He ignored the heat that pooled into the base of his abdomen in lieu of his task at hand. There would be other times for him to chase those fleeting fantasies in the privacy of an inn when Geralt is out doing what Geralt does best.

“Geralt, if I may offer an idea? You’re unusually stressed as of late and I want to try something to ease that out of you.” Jaskier began, feeling the witcher stiffen under his touch as he was lulled back to the forefront of his thoughts by the bard’s chirping inquiries.

“Jaskier.” He growled in a low warning but the usual heat of intimidation was absent. Jaskier couldn’t see Geralt’s face at the moment but he’s heard all manner of sounds rumble out of the man and this was rife with hesitation. He’d even go so far as to say, doubt.

“Please just hear me out.” Jaskier spoke up, his volume rising only by a fraction in momentary desperation. His hands switched from the careful massaging motions to just gently petting along his back and shoulders, tracing small circles and patterns in slow delicate strokes over the dips of muscles and outlining the dark traces of scarring. When the small pause of breath between went uninterrupted by Geralt, Jaskier gathered his thoughts and his courage, mustering through to his proposal.

“Just trust me and let me try something, please? You will have full control of the situation and if at all you feel uncomfortable, I’ll stop at your word.” Jaskier began, setting the ground rules for their potential encounter. “I just want to help you. You haven’t been sleeping well and you’re so tense. I noticed it when you were fighting earlier and I’m concerned. Mutation or no, you need to take care of yourself and if you won’t do it then- then allow me.”

Geralt had the urge to push himself off the edge of the bed and retreat away from the bard and his damnable ideas. They never were very good ones when he did indulge him but something about this proposition made his chest tighten up and ring with a hollow ache of desperation. His fingers curled into tight fists, balling up the edge of the towel and dragging it away from its tightly wound position. It wrinkled over his thighs but didn’t fall where it was pinned beneath his seated weight. His golden eyes glared down at the floor, brows pinched together in thought as he wrung through the conflict curling like a leshen’s roots around him. A tight bitter panic as every potential bad scenario possible raced across his mind. His gaze flickered towards the door to the room, already properly locked to keep nosy patrons away. Geralt had checked it three times before even stepping foot in the bath and made Jaskier check it a fourth after.

His attention split between the erratic beating of his heart towards the tender lines being traced in phantom artistry against his back as if it were the most beautiful canvas the bard has ever touched. His skin prickled, a needling excitement that raised goosebumps across his flesh and he couldn’t even blame it on the cold air. His spine pulled and spasmed with anticipation while something deeper wrapped around him, refusing to let go. It was a rarity that such raw emotion could rear its head in his life but it was there and though a fleeting neighbor, its presence right now was unwelcome. The bitter panic bleeding up his throat with the sour taste of fear.

“Geralt.” Jaskier spoke quietly, his hands coming to idle on his shoulders as he gave them a small squeeze and a gentle pull towards the bed. The witcher didn’t budge, his head dipped low to avoid the bard’s gaze. “Geralt, look at me.”

It was a slow movement of obedience, wound tight with apprehension as Geralt obliged his demand. His amber eyes didn't meet the bard's soft blue, gazing away for the briefest shudder of heartbeats before Jaskier's voice spoke up again, accompanied by the gentle curl of fingers coaxing under his chin. It was a bold move on the bard's part but then again, Jaskier had a habit of crossing boundaries and breaking carefully crafted expectations, void of the fear that many harbored towards witchers. Geralt reasoned that was because Jaskier _knew_ Geralt wouldn't harm him. His idle complaints and threats aside over their travels, Jaskier had never been safer than when he was beside the White Wolf.

"Geralt, listen to me closely." Jaskier's voice was soft as he leaned over the witcher's shoulder. A lean weight pressed firmly against his back, flooding warmth through Geralt's chest at the close proximity of the bard. He swallowed thickly, eyes narrowed in suspicion before softening into something more accepting of Jaskier's uncharacteristic boldness. Personal space and privacy was a novelty their companionship lacked, largely due to Jaskier's inability to keep his distance for more than a few minutes at a time. It however had never been like _this._

_This_ felt substantially different from their usual exchanges. The air was electric, crackling with an unnamed energy that shivered through his body with surprising sensitivity. As if his already freakish senses had reached the pinnacle of their height in the few quiet moments shared between them.

Geralt watched as Jaskier's lips formed a firm line of thought before continuing. "We are safe here. No monsters or mayhem will befall us here. The doors are locked and you are more than capable of protecting us should the need arise." He explained, fingertips tracing the ridge of Geralt's spine down to the dip of his lower back. His palm flattened out, a warm press against tanned flesh as it smoothed over his hip and around to his side. The tingling tightness in his back refused to loosen up, a static shiver that played along his nerves until they were frayed and strung too taut to settle.

"I understand that you're afr-" Jaskier started but cut himself off. "- _that_ you have reservations." He corrected smoothly. "I would assume that's just the Witcher part of you brooding over habits. But you are allowed to have your freedom away from your work." 

There was a pause as Jaskier considered his next words carefully. The warmth of his breath ghosted over Geralt's neck, tickling the dampened strands of hair at his nape. He felt the pressing weight each time Jaskier inhaled and the momentary absence of pressure when he exhaled. A split second of vulnerability as the bard settled against him, his chin resting against Geralt's shoulder until their were almost nose to nose now. The lingering fragrance of the body oil curled up to tickle his nostrils from the bard's hands.

"Please trust me Geralt. Let me help you for once." It was a simple request. Easy as they come. But to Geralt, it was the hardest thing he's ever been asked to do. He stiffened as Jaskier's careful hands continued their gentle petting motions. A soothing distraction from the tangle of hesitation that sprung forth like a writhing nest of nekkers. They squabbled and bickered at each other, a plethora of thoughts tearing and clawing at his mind like feral hounds.

"I-" Geralt's voice was a harsh rasp in his throat before his shoulders fell in unrequited defeat. His amber eyes slipping shut with a sign of resignation. No words could work out the twisting anxiety that nestled in his gut and he dared not attempt some poetic litany at the moment to describe in the only way the bard seemed to respond to. Jaskier watched as Geralt scrubbed a hand over his face before cradling it in his palm. 

"I want to." He finally heaved with tremendous effort. Jaskier's elation was expertly stifled with careful manipulation. A skill Geralt attributed to many years wiling away in the fickle company of the court nobility. He shook his head in slow exasperation as he felt the fingers pull at his shoulders.

"Come here." Jaskier murmured, drawing away to give him space to move. After a moment's pause, Geralt obliged and followed the bard's coaxing touch until he was fully situated on the bed. "Lie back." Jaskier commanded, positioning himself not over Geralt but beside him like the many cold lonely nights by the fireside. A familiar position that the witcher had grown accustomed to over the years. He let his head rest heavily into the pillows, felt the cold nip at the back of his skull where his hair was still damp to the touch.

Jaskier smiled, a gentle warm sort of expression that filled Geralt's chest with the fluttery beat of his heart. A slow pace, far different from any human's but faster than his resting pace. Excitement prickled along his body, accompanying the spur of heat crawling into his loins. It wasn't lessened any as Jaskier's wandering hand smoothed over the dip of his stomach, thumbing around his navel as it traveled lower to the crest of the white towel. The bard's fingers traced the length of it along his hips in slow tantalizing swipes as he waited for Geralt's permission to proceed. One brow raised expectantly down at the witcher.

The low rumble that bubbled up in his throat was his only sign of permission as he kept his hands where they were. He wanted to prove to Jaskier that he could do better. That he wasn't paralyzed by such simple and mundane fears. It was a childish notion and he cursed himself silently as the towel was unwrapped and the first warm brush of a worn palm caressed his cock. It was heavenly and all Geralt could do not to buck up into it with all the ferocious desire of the wolves he was monikered after.

Jaskier’s touch was familiar and yet so foreign, eliciting warmth in every sweep and firm curl of fingers. A talent birthed from years of experience as the calloused fingertips stroked the sensitive tip of his cock. A chaste twist of the wrist wringing out pleasure as Geralt groaned. His eyes fluttered as the pressure of too many lonely nights spent unattended to was pressing against his threshold of tolerance. His lips curled into a breathy snarl, reminded that no woman had ever delivered such attentive care and pleasure to him in all the years he’s roamed these lands. It felt like something beyond the physical barriers of intimacy, creeping into his chest with every shaky sigh of relief.

He dared a half lidded peek at the bard and noticed Jaskier’s gaze was far from Geralt’s own, instead drinking in every breath and trembling muscle as if savoring a bottle of fine Toussaint wine. His thoughts picking apart every twitch and sigh, every groan and growl as if he were dissecting the delicate notes of a cherished vintage. His fingers played over his skin as if he were strumming the most intimate of songs, a vision of beauty wrapped in the look of deep concentration. No wasted motions, no slip of humble fingers as he worked the witcher up into a fine and desperate heat. Geralt growled out, low and deep as Jaskier stroked the precum from his slit in a fine swipe.

Geralt was lost to the bard’s enchantment, swept away by the spell played by such clever fingers as he spilled over in Jaskier’s grip. The warmth that pooled out with a low feral snarl was a full body ripple of relief. Muscles puddling against the mattress with a hiss as the bard worked him for every last drop before cleaning them both off with the end of the towel. Jaskier’s attention was elsewhere as his jaw crooked with a deep seated satisfaction as if he’d just won some esteemed Lord’s sincere gratitude over the notes of a well crafted song.

He certainly wasn’t prepared for it when Geralt slipped an arm around Jaskier’s waist and rolled them over. The bard let out a yelp of surprise as he was put in Geralt’s place, albeit half seated as he braced his back against the headboard of the bed. His legs sprawled apart with Geralt’s wide muscular and very nude frame stretched out between them. Jaskier pressed his hands to the witcher’s shoulders in surprise, eyes wide and startled as he gasped. “Geralt!”

“Jaskier.” Geralt growled low, a feral sound huddled under the husky stoop of his words. An inhuman wolfish snarl that flashed teeth at the smaller man. The bard swallowed thickly, his hands stiffened against the witcher’s shoulders before he forced them to relax, resuming the slow massaging motions from earlier though Geralt could sense it. Jaskier was nervous. His heart pitched high in his throat as he thundered away with anxiety. Geralt wasn’t stupid or selfish enough to ignore the problem Jaskier was concealing. The too tight press of his trousers nestled under Geralt’s currently perched form.

“Wh-what are you doing?” Jaskier finally managed with a small stutter in his words. His voice hitched as Geralt’s hands gripped his hips and rolled his thumbs along the slender dips and dainty curves. He was met with the low purr of primal satisfaction that he had grown so accustomed to hearing along with the plethora of animalistic sounds that rose in the witcher’s throat. 

“I aim to return the favor.” Geralt said simply, dragging himself further down the bed as he lined himself up with the bard’s _problem_. 

“There’s really no need for that-Geralt!” Jaskier protested but his words were weak and squeaky. The confidence that had been there moments ago replaced by the heated blush across Jaskier’s face, curling like an accursed affliction up towards his ears and down his neck.

“I want to. Won’t you let me?” Geralt asked, carefully crafting his own words like a finely sharpened sword, slicing through any excuses the bard could draw against him. Jaskier eventually gave up, realizing how absolutely stubborn the man was when he set his mind upon something. He gave a quiet nod and settled in, unlacing the front of his trousers in answer.

It wasn’t something Jaskier had anticipated ever happening to him, though he knew well enough that Geralt was aptly versed in such activities of the female variety. His mouth, though used only for growling threateningly at passersby and contract holders, had apparently been skillfully rendered in pleasuring mundane impulses. The wet heat that engulfed Jaskier was unbearable in all the right ways as he forced himself to remain still. His fingers shifted from Geralt’s shoulders up to the idle petting of the witcher’s hair. It ventured to small swoops and caresses as Jaskier’s mind blanked momentarily to the blissful exchange of a tongue exploring every crevice and vein of his dignity.

Geralt’s strong arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer as he dipped and bobbed his head, the massaging motions through the witcher’s hair were a silent encouragement urging him onward. “G-good.” Jaskier stifled a gasp, refraining from rolling his hips in a tremendous battle of willpower but despite his valiant efforts, it was a futile concept. The little upward roll was a concern on the bard’s end but Geralt handled it like a champ, swallowed his length with expert ease that pulled more desperate muddled sounds from the bard’s gifted vocal chords.

“Oh fuck- good boy.” His palms stroked over the witcher’s head, a small sound like a werewolf’s growl rumbled through him, sending startlingly pleasant vibrations through his cock and adding to the ever growing volcano of heat in his loins. Jaskier hissed, gripping the back of the witcher’s head in a firm press before it evolved into a halted pat. “Fuck- Geralt…” He offered a brief warning but the witcher answered only in another rippling growl, edging him over that divine precipice and washing waves of relief throughout the bard’s body in one violent shiver.

Geralt pulled off with a wet pop, dragging his tongue across his bottom lip as he licked away the evidence of their debauchery. It was possibly the hottest thing Jaskier has ever seen in all his life as the White Wolf himself smiled dangerously up at him, lips red and glistening with their efforts. 

“You are unfairly attractive right now.” Jaskier balked, a flustered sound dropping out of him as the witcher smirked, adjusting their bodies so that they could curl together on the bed in a more comfortable manner. Geralt’s head rested against Jaskier’s shoulder as he purred, a long and tantalizing sound that had the bard’s head tilting to get a better glimpse as those golden eyes, pupils blown wide with euphoria as they settled back into the bed. 

Jaskier took stock in the strong arm slung around his waist, the clean and very nude man at his side, and the disheveled mess that had become of their room. He had enough of a mind to lean over the edge of the bed to retrieve a discarded blanket from earlier to pull over them for additional warmth. Geralt’s intentions of moving from the spot were absent as he submitted to the wonderful lull of pleasant sleep with a barely noticeable noise in his throat. Were Jaskier not so close to him, he wouldn’t have heard it at all. “Thank you, Jaskier.” 

Jaskier paused, taking a moment to study this rare vulnerability in the man who seemed so frightened of intimacy - _real intimacy_ \- now huddled against his side in an inn in the middle of nowhere, all the while looking so fresh and new and _relieved._ A rare sight he was certain, but one that Jaskier would cherish nonetheless for as long as his mortal life would allow. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment or kudos down below to let me know what you think!
> 
> Also, if you're interested, there is a Witcher discord for all fan content about the Witcher series and franchise if you would like to join.
> 
> https://discord.gg/CZdZ3Pc


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